They were like soldiers in a way, and that way was that they were a gathering of well trained individuals full of talents and survivability. In the deepest essence of a soldier, however, they were not alike. A soldier’s core tenants revolve around discipline, rigidity, and duty. A hunter’s core tenants were their own, and in that way they were very much individuals, and very unlike a soldier. Musing over the differences, Ellie had concluded that combat effectiveness was where their similarities ended.
Ellie sat quietly, listening. Ordinarily she was not quiet. Ordinarily she was outspoken, and quick to reject instruction or lecture in any of its myriad forms. These were not ordinary circumstances, however, so she had tempered her baser nature for the sake of the end goal. That end goal, glimmering far at the end of the tunnel like a beacon, that end goal that dripped golden, molten money like sap from the tap of a maple. She’d always known she would get to it eventually, but pursuit of one’s own goals somehow seemed to supersede the background tasks one kept in the dusty recesses of their mind.
And that’s just what this had always been to her, too - a background task. Passing through New Abraxas was old hats for her, something she did all the time, and of course she’d always heard about the University of New Abraxas and the Hunter’s Training Course. What did she need something like that for, though? Just to flex on a bunch of wanna-bes and has-beens? No sir, no thank you, that wasn’t Ellie Williams’ style.
But recently some jobs had been opening up, and an increasing number of posted jobs on the community bulletin board were post scripted with the same message: ‘For Hunter’s Training Course Alumni’. Taking lucrative jobs? That was the meat and potatoes that kept her going, kept her coinpurse full, and kept her days and nights wild. The top jobs weren’t up for grabs anymore, not just for anybody. Now the New Abraxas upper crust wanted resumes and credentials. Pffft.
It was everything she hated: structure, conformity, showing up and showing off for a bunch of poindexter pencil pushers to get a piece of paper that meant nothing to her so she could do the jobs that meant everything to her.
And no matter how much she hated it, it was necessary, and the time had come where she could put it off no longer.
So there she sat, one of a dozen transient hunters buckled by the weight of necessity, listening to some shirt from the brass lecture on about shit like ‘liability’ and ‘signing waivers’. She glanced over at a man she’d designated ‘Tank-Top Flat-Top the First’, all muscles and sweat stains, and smirked. Guys like that, and girls like her? They ate liability waivers for breakfast.
The shirt wrapped up, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Any questions?” he asked, looking around at the brutes and mercs decorating the fenceline and the upturned crates-made-seats.
Crickets.
“Alright, then. I’ll pass around this clipboard, and you can sign your name after the events that interest you. You’re welcome to sign up for all of them, or one of them, or anything in between. You can even sign up for none of them!” he started laughing, a breathy wheezy sound, and then tapered off when he remembered his audience.
They did not look amused.
The clipboard made its rounds, and a couple X-marks-the-spots came from the group. Ellie herself marked the situations she found herself most comfortable in: archery was a specialty, of course. The obstacle course, too, she was confident she could move through in a way that would put the meatheads to shame. The gun range would be easy, too, since she was a crack-shot. The off-road vehicle course she skirted…she wasn’t an incapable driver, but she wasn’t anything special, either.
She kept her eye on Flat-Top. There was something about his nonchalance, and the way he conversed with the others that had left her gears turning. She remembered someone she’d known as a kid, a scrawny boy with a keen aptitude for menial tasks that made him endearing to start to know, then infuriating to know at length. The kind of guy you’d grow to hate because he could be better than you at anything he’d tried, even though he looked non-assuming. That kid was a mousy red-head, and Flat-Top was a bulky blonde, but their energy was the same…
As if on cue Flat-Top looked over from his conversation and locked eyes with Ellie. She tried to look busy, diary open in her lap, but she heard his footsteps as he approached. When they stopped in front of her, well…she had to look up, didn’t she?
And he was looking down.
He leaned in close to her ear.
“Brave girl,” he said, but quietly. She was sure the others couldn’t hear. She was listening, though. Closely. “Let’s see how brave you are out there, huh? Let’s see what the little girl can do when she’s trying to be a man. I’ll bet you’re fast, sure. I’ll bet you’re clever too. But you won’t outshoot me, and you won’t scale a wall the way I can. This is mine, and we both know it.”
She could see him smirking, his lips were just far enough from her ear. He leaned back and put a hand on her shoulder.
“That’s how it is, girly.”
Maybe the revulsion showed up on her face, but it didn’t diminish his smile, and damned if that smile wasn’t a bit charming…sleazy, but confident, and she knew he believed what he said.
She didn’t grace him with a response, but when he walked away she penciled out his outline. All torso and some legs, with arms like tree trunks. He was a specimen, and if she was into that kind of thing she might feel a flush, but she wasn’t so she didn’t. She couldn’t nail down the eyes, but then again, she never could. Somehow he made her think about a time out in the woods with the red-haired boy where he’d challenged her to scale up the tree and she’d fallen off one of the lower branches. That had been embarrassing, and despite herself, she had a tough time keeping the thought from her head when she pictured the Training Grounds. Frowning, she sketched a slash across his eyes on the page.
She wrote next to him - “big assholes have the least pinch” and contented herself to bring him shame on the course.
Ellie sat quietly, listening. Ordinarily she was not quiet. Ordinarily she was outspoken, and quick to reject instruction or lecture in any of its myriad forms. These were not ordinary circumstances, however, so she had tempered her baser nature for the sake of the end goal. That end goal, glimmering far at the end of the tunnel like a beacon, that end goal that dripped golden, molten money like sap from the tap of a maple. She’d always known she would get to it eventually, but pursuit of one’s own goals somehow seemed to supersede the background tasks one kept in the dusty recesses of their mind.
And that’s just what this had always been to her, too - a background task. Passing through New Abraxas was old hats for her, something she did all the time, and of course she’d always heard about the University of New Abraxas and the Hunter’s Training Course. What did she need something like that for, though? Just to flex on a bunch of wanna-bes and has-beens? No sir, no thank you, that wasn’t Ellie Williams’ style.
But recently some jobs had been opening up, and an increasing number of posted jobs on the community bulletin board were post scripted with the same message: ‘For Hunter’s Training Course Alumni’. Taking lucrative jobs? That was the meat and potatoes that kept her going, kept her coinpurse full, and kept her days and nights wild. The top jobs weren’t up for grabs anymore, not just for anybody. Now the New Abraxas upper crust wanted resumes and credentials. Pffft.
It was everything she hated: structure, conformity, showing up and showing off for a bunch of poindexter pencil pushers to get a piece of paper that meant nothing to her so she could do the jobs that meant everything to her.
And no matter how much she hated it, it was necessary, and the time had come where she could put it off no longer.
So there she sat, one of a dozen transient hunters buckled by the weight of necessity, listening to some shirt from the brass lecture on about shit like ‘liability’ and ‘signing waivers’. She glanced over at a man she’d designated ‘Tank-Top Flat-Top the First’, all muscles and sweat stains, and smirked. Guys like that, and girls like her? They ate liability waivers for breakfast.
The shirt wrapped up, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Any questions?” he asked, looking around at the brutes and mercs decorating the fenceline and the upturned crates-made-seats.
Crickets.
“Alright, then. I’ll pass around this clipboard, and you can sign your name after the events that interest you. You’re welcome to sign up for all of them, or one of them, or anything in between. You can even sign up for none of them!” he started laughing, a breathy wheezy sound, and then tapered off when he remembered his audience.
They did not look amused.
The clipboard made its rounds, and a couple X-marks-the-spots came from the group. Ellie herself marked the situations she found herself most comfortable in: archery was a specialty, of course. The obstacle course, too, she was confident she could move through in a way that would put the meatheads to shame. The gun range would be easy, too, since she was a crack-shot. The off-road vehicle course she skirted…she wasn’t an incapable driver, but she wasn’t anything special, either.
She kept her eye on Flat-Top. There was something about his nonchalance, and the way he conversed with the others that had left her gears turning. She remembered someone she’d known as a kid, a scrawny boy with a keen aptitude for menial tasks that made him endearing to start to know, then infuriating to know at length. The kind of guy you’d grow to hate because he could be better than you at anything he’d tried, even though he looked non-assuming. That kid was a mousy red-head, and Flat-Top was a bulky blonde, but their energy was the same…
As if on cue Flat-Top looked over from his conversation and locked eyes with Ellie. She tried to look busy, diary open in her lap, but she heard his footsteps as he approached. When they stopped in front of her, well…she had to look up, didn’t she?
And he was looking down.
He leaned in close to her ear.
“Brave girl,” he said, but quietly. She was sure the others couldn’t hear. She was listening, though. Closely. “Let’s see how brave you are out there, huh? Let’s see what the little girl can do when she’s trying to be a man. I’ll bet you’re fast, sure. I’ll bet you’re clever too. But you won’t outshoot me, and you won’t scale a wall the way I can. This is mine, and we both know it.”
She could see him smirking, his lips were just far enough from her ear. He leaned back and put a hand on her shoulder.
“That’s how it is, girly.”
Maybe the revulsion showed up on her face, but it didn’t diminish his smile, and damned if that smile wasn’t a bit charming…sleazy, but confident, and she knew he believed what he said.
She didn’t grace him with a response, but when he walked away she penciled out his outline. All torso and some legs, with arms like tree trunks. He was a specimen, and if she was into that kind of thing she might feel a flush, but she wasn’t so she didn’t. She couldn’t nail down the eyes, but then again, she never could. Somehow he made her think about a time out in the woods with the red-haired boy where he’d challenged her to scale up the tree and she’d fallen off one of the lower branches. That had been embarrassing, and despite herself, she had a tough time keeping the thought from her head when she pictured the Training Grounds. Frowning, she sketched a slash across his eyes on the page.
She wrote next to him - “big assholes have the least pinch” and contented herself to bring him shame on the course.